Yorkshire Writers' Lunch

Three friends were sitting drinking coffee. They were deciding which one of them would do the deed. It wasn’t going well. Barry, Kenny and George were mates from way back. Same estate, same trouble, ducking and diving since they were in the last year of junior school. They’d all three encountered the local police and had spent time away from their loved ones for minor offences, (well minor in their eyes). At least they hadn’t topped anybody. However, topping was the subject on the table for discussion. The arguments were getting serious. Barry was the largest and strongest of them therefore Kenny and George assumed he would do it. It would require some strength and bulk.   Barry though was more a gentle, genial giant. He had no appetite to do it. He was not about to agree it should be him. His wife would go ballistic and he wasn’t going to let that happen. Barry and George turned to Kenny. Kenny had seen a topping after all. Had the experience so to speak. The hands on, eyeball

How do we cope with change when the unexpected Covid 19 is all about change? We had to alter our buying habits and grocery items. Public entertainment disappeared overnight, and the patterns of our social life and work routines for many were severely altered. Marginalised workers,  overnight became essential workers and as such recognised if not in pay and conditions, at least in the hearts and minds of the populous in countries where essential services and those that deliver them became the focus of acknowledgment, applause, conversation, and concern. But what if you’re not an essential worker, what then, eh? Some people’s jobs are secure, such as teachers, postal workers, public transport workers, bank staff, and so on. But that leaves many with a precarious future, because having service industries closed down during the coronavirus pandemic, it’s questionable whether some restaurants and shops will re-open. So how do we cope in the midst of a crisis like this? Do we pivot

You, Today “How much again?” you ask me, pen poised. “£10.20,” I say distracted by noise. “What’s the date, did you say?”, still  sounding  like you. “10th of May, I believe.” It’s  me  who’s confused. You ask me the figures and date yet again Not even writing the cheque, and then I really do look, and see you anew -  You’re definitely altered - are you still  you ? The woman we loved, and thought that we knew  Is slowly dissolving, like smoke up a flue: Miniscule changes: the outside’s the same But now you’ve forgotten your own grandson’s name. Your smile doesn’t change, nor your deep love of cake; But these changes are cruel, they make my heart ache For the mum I remember, who taught me to cook, Who taught me there’s nothing so good as a book. Close my heart to the past, my eyes to next week, I’m with you  today . I won’t try to seek The mum I remember, the woman I knew: We’re together  today  and, for now, you’re still  you .

SUPERMARKET GREETERS (Short Rhyming Poem) About five metres from supermarket greeters Miss Rosie gave birth on the shop room floor. Mr Mark Peters of those supermarket greeters Welcomed her baby through automatic doors. CLAIRE E HUGHES (Clerihew) Claire E Hughes truly did not choose to be named after a poetic form.  Social disgrace in a perfect storm.  Claire E Hughes has never perused comic verse of any style or kind.  She just wants to leave all that behind. Claire E Hughes left me battered and bruised when I penned this three-stanza warning. That woman is not for scorning...  HUMMING THE CHORUSES (Free Verse) Am I the only one who hums? Am I the only one who hums conundrums like: How the A-Team theme can be heard and seen from Both Sides Now? How You Are My Sunshine,  My Only Sunshine during The Great Escape? How There Are  Nine Million Bicycles  In Beijing  when  you Play That Fu

Hope springs eternal; Proverb Meaning – It is human nature to always find a fresh cause for optimism by Juliet Thomas The burden of the week lay like a boulder on Nicole’s chest as her daughter, infused by days of being stuck inside as the clouds grieved, quickly tugged on her wellies. Her cute dimples sucked in her cheeks and she stomped about grinning widely, asking if she could jump in the muddy puddles. ‘Sure, you can,’ smiled her Mum, a fresh dose of energy spiking her weary limbs as she grabbed her mac and purse. Outside, as Mya slid her clammy hand into hers and continued to bounce along out of step, she filled her lungs with fresh, damp air and tilted her face towards the sun, it felt delicious to be out of the house. The road and pavement they paced along were varnished slick with rain and she noticed families that she hadn’t seen for weeks doing the same, heading towards the park, now a chink of sunlight had come out to play. It was like a cal

June is a poppy unfurling red sails into the sunshine, its black heart giving succour to the bees, shelter to its own new life within, ready for the future – a future it cannot understand. Uncertain, yet believing the poppy continues and thrives in the face of the unknown.

It started with a debt. Well quite a big debt. Albert liked a bet and when he’d had a drink or two, it all got a bit out of control. Frankie Collins had helped out, lending him money so he could continue paying for his addiction. But he knew there’d come a day when Mr Collins would want his money back. That day had arrived. It began with a knock at Albert’s front door – a sound loud enough to waken the dead. The man who’d lent him all that money stood on the doorstep and invited himself in. They sat in the front parlour, two glasses of stout and a trilby on the Sunday tea table, a photo of Mabel looking down on them from the mantlepiece. It was cold enough for a fire, but there’d been no chance to lay one.     “You can’t pay me back, can you?” Albert shook his head.     “So, what are you going to do about it?” Albert said he didn’t know.     “How about this then. There’s a feller who’s caused me more than enough bother, so much so, that he’s got to go. You can choose whic